


On Having Someone Else

by Downward Stroke (casual_distance)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bare Knuckle Boxing, Fighter Jack, M/M, Prostitute Eric, Secret Relationship, Set in the Past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7572442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casual_distance/pseuds/Downward%20Stroke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric’s best luck comes from working the fighting circuit.  It’s easy to redirect adrenaline highs into lust that Eric can profit off of.  It’s also where his favorite client can be found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the OMGCP Challenge Trope #3: Fake Relationship. 
> 
> It's set in the past, though I don't really have a specific time period in mind. Jack is an underground bare knuckle boxer, and Eric is a prostitute whose favorite place to work is the underground fighting circuit.

Eric woke to someone pounding on the door. He groaned and pressed his face into the pillow. Next to him Jack stirred, then echoed his groan. When he sat up, Eric did too only for Jack to press a hand to his back, his palm broad and flat over the curve of Eric’s spine.

“Go back to sleep. It’s probably nothing.”

Eric let himself relax back into Jack’s bed, watching through slitted eyes as Jack stood. He stretched, arms above his head, back arched, muscles rolling beneath his skin. Eric bit his lip and smiled to himself, irrationally pleased with the memories he had of getting to feel that movement beneath his hands as Jack fucked him. The sight and sense memories made his cock harden, but Eric ignored it for the moment. If he was lucky, there’d be time enough for that later. With Jack he was almost always lucky.

Jack pulled on a robe, hiding his body from Eric’s sight, and left the bedroom. Eric gave a sad sigh, but closed his eyes and let himself drift back to sleep. He jerked awake again when Jack’s voice became audible through the bedroom door.

“I said no, Kent!”

Frowning, Eric climbed from the bed and crept up to the door, pausing only long enough to pull on some underwear. He’d never heard Jack raise his voice before. Even during his fights, when the crowd was yelling and throwing popcorn and bits of balled-up papers and hurling insults while his opponent catcalled or jeered at him, Jack had always been silent and brooding, standing in the corner of the ring, his taped hands wrapped around the ropes, face impassive and unmoved.

Eric still remembered the first time he saw Jack in the ring. He still remembered the shiver that ran down his spine at the sight of him.

“Come on, Jack,” the other man all but whined, pulling Eric from his thoughts.

He listened as the two of them argued back and forth, something about this Kent wanting Jack to switch circuits and fight with him again. Jack kept refusing. Their voices dropped, and Eric couldn’t hear them anymore. He started to go back to bed when Jack’s voice rose again.

“You gotta stop hanging onto this, Kent. I know we- I know we used to be somethin’ together, but that’s past.”

“We were just kids, Jack. We didn’t know shit.”

Jack laughed, dry and sad. “Still don’t know shit, Kenny. But it’s past.” Jack hesitated, then added, “Sides, I’m seein’ someone.”

Eric frowned. He knew that wasn’t true. Jack had told him part of the reason he paid for Eric was because he didn’t want to see someone. Fighting underground was dangerous. Jack knew enough fighters who’d been knocked down in the ring and then not got up again, leaving behind wives and kids. It wasn’t a wife Jack would be leaving behind, but Jack didn’t want to do that to someone. Eric had been around the fighting circuit enough to know the way it was.

“I don’t believe you,” Kent said. “I know when you’re lyin’.”

“I’m not,” Jack argued.

There was an undercurrent to his voice, one Eric was familiar with. A tightening that usually meant Eric was to take charge, to pin Jack down and tell him what was gonna happen. A tightening that meant Jack needed someone to take charge of him so he could take charge of himself. Before he could think, Eric snatched up Jack’s discarded shirt from the night before. He pulled it on and buttoned it up just a bit, leaving the neck gaping open. It fell down to mid-thigh on Eric, the sleeves covering his fingers.

He rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and walked into the living room to find Jack standing in a fighting stance behind the couch. A blond haired man sat in one of Jack’s chairs, sprawled lazy and comfortable, built like Jack with the same ragged knuckles and the same scars marking his jaw and eyebrows, the same crooked nose from being broken time and time again.

Eric spared him only enough of a look to register his presence before he approached Jack. He hooked his fingers into the fold of Jack’s arm where he had them both crossed over his chest and used that hold to lift himself onto his toes. Jack ducked obediently, seamlessly, to the squeeze of Eric’s fingers, and Eric pressed a kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth.

“Good mornin’, sweetheart. Do ya mind if I make some coffee?”

Jack met his eyes and Eric winked at him. Jack’s body relaxed, his shoulders easing down, his arms dropping. He caught Eric’s fingers in his own and squeezed.

“Course not,” Jack answered.

Eric rewarded him with a smile and headed for the kitchen, letting his fingers linger in Jack’s hold as he walked away. He added a sway to his hips, knowing both men were watching.

Eric busied himself with making coffee and starting breakfast. Though he could hear Kent and Jack still talking, he couldn’t make out their words, which was fine. The conversation was apparently over as Kent left not long afterward, the door slamming shut behind him.

Jack appeared in the kitchen doorway and watched him cook without saying anything. Once Eric had turned off the stove and plated their eggs and bacon, he entered the room, stalking toward him with intention. Eric leaned up against the counter and waited.

Jack stopped just shy of touching him, the heat of his body stark enough to be felt in the chill air of the apartment. Jack’s eyes raked over Eric’s body. He arched his back, putting on a display for Jack, hope at being touched fluttering under his ribs.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jack said, his voice soft, eyes on Eric’s face.

Eric shrugged. He tilted his chin up, parting his lips in invitation. Jack leaned closer. He curved his hands around Eric’s thighs. His palms were hot and firm, the tips of his fingers digging into the muscle there with gentle pressure. Jack breathed against his mouth, damp gusts of air that brushed across his lips and cheeks.

Eric wanted to close the distance between them, but he held firm. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing, focused on the feel of Jack’s hands on his body. He waited and he let Jack come to him. Let Jack press close and cover Eric’s mouth with his own. 

Eric opened to him, easy and willing. Eric wrapped himself around him, hungry and desperate. He let Jack take him back into the bedroom, leaving their food forgotten, and gave himself over, one more time.

Afterward, Jack stretched out on his stomach, arms folded under his pillow. He watched Eric as he dressed, pulling on his button down shirt and trousers. He clipped his suspenders in place, but did not pull them over his arms. Then he climbed back into Jack’s bed, sitting on his knees. Jack rolled onto his side to face him. Eric flattened his hand to Jack’s chest and leaned forward to kiss him. Jack cupped his hand around the back of Eric’s head, a quiet kind of intimacy they both ignored.

“You fightin’ again?” Eric asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“Need me?”

Jack shook his head, but said, “We’ll see.”

Eric kissed his cheek and slid off the bed. Jack called after him, “Money’s in the usual.”

Eric stopped by the kitchen on the way out, pulling open the breadbox. An envelope sat inside. He didn’t bother to count the money; Jack was always good for it, usually more than.

In the hallway, Kent sat with his back against the wall opposite Jack’s door. He had his knees pulled to his body, his hands dug into his hair. He stared up at Eric, the betrayal clear enough that Eric knew he’d heard them.

Eric paused in the doorway, then stepped out. He pulled Jack’s door to, testing it to be sure it had latched. He waited while Kent climbed to his feet. They walked together in silence. By the time they reached the ground floor, Eric had pulled himself together, tugging his suspenders into place and pulling on his jacket. Kent held the door for him when they exited the building.

Eric waited to see which direction he would go, but Kent only stood on the sidewalk, eyes pointed across the street but seeing something Eric couldn’t. Kent turned to him, glanced down at the envelope of money in his hands.

“Are you two really together?” he asked.

Eric folded the envelope and tucked it into his pocket. “Does it matter?”

Kent snorted. He ran a hand through his hair. “I had him first you know.”

Eric didn’t know anything about this man. He only knew Jack and he knew that this man upset Jack, but that Jack forgave him anyway. Eric wasn’t sure he could be so forgiving, remembering the way Jack had been ready to fight, remembering that tone of voice that Eric hated most.

“I’ll have him last,” Eric said.

Kent flinched as if Eric had slapped him. His hands dangled by his side. Eric relented.

“He’d forgive you if you asked.”

Kent looked at him then, eyes wide. Eric stared back. He could see the flicker of emotions across Kent’s face, disbelief- hope- gratitude- anger. Kent settled there and he glared at Eric.

“If I wanted you, could I have you?” he asked instead.

Eric quirked a smile at him. “No.”

“Alright then.” Kent grinned and it was like looking at a different person. He tucked his hands in his pockets, turned his back to Eric, and walked away, whistling. Eric almost believed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who commented on the first chapter! I’m crap at responding, but everyone’s words (and interest in more!) were much appreciated. :)
> 
> This chapter is for the [OMGCP Trope Challenge](https://omgcp-tropechallenge.tumblr.com/) #7: Secret Relationship. 
> 
> There’ll probably be more, because I have plans!

Eric's door was the last one on the right, just beside the only window in the hall. A patch of pale, early morning sunlight shone through a break in the grime on the window, highlighting the worn-down mat that sat in front of Eric’s apartment. It was the only spot of brightness in the hallway.

Jack hadn't expected Eric to live in such a rundown place, but maybe he should have. Maybe it was his own expectations that made him think of Eric in a sun-lit apartment decorated with plants and paintings and colorful furniture. Eric glowed in his mind, and it only made sense to Jack that he would live in a place as bright as he was.

Jack never would have expected Eric to live in a dark place like this. One where the few lamps that hadn’t burned out created pockets of pooling shadows. Where the wood of the floor creaked under his weight as he walked the hallway. Where the wallpaper had long since faded and peeled back in spots to reveal the plaster beneath.

Jack eyed the faded paint of Eric’s door. He raised his hand to knock but hesitated. He pressed his palm flat to the wood and breathed out.

He shouldn't be here. Eric had told him he never brought men back to his home. He'd had to move a couple of times already after the wrong man had followed Eric home, wanting more than Eric was willing to give. He'd told Jack this, and then he'd left before Jack had woken, his address hastily scribbled across a ripped strip of paper, placed carefully on top of that day’s newspaper.

_In case you need it_

Jack curled his hand into a fist and knocked.

Eric opened the door a minute later, wearing only an undershirt and a pair of slacks half unbuttoned. His frown shifted into surprise when he saw Jack. He smiled, his face brightening with delight. 

"Jack! What are you doing here?" He stepped back to let Jack in.

"You weren't there last night," Jack said. 

He pulled off his jacket as Eric closed the door. He held it awkwardly until Eric took it from his hands and hung it on a coat stand by the door. Eric's red jacket hung on the hook next to Jack's already.

"I know." He made a face Jack didn't understand. "I didn't really need to go, and it's hard to go just because. Everyone who knows always thinks I'm working." Eric rolled his eyes. "Apparently a boy can't just like to watch a fight. Do you want something to drink?"

"Water."

Eric shot him a grin and then left him standing in the entry way. Jack swayed after him, but couldn't bring himself to follow. His shoulders tensed; his hands curled into fists. When Eric returned with a glass of water, he held it out and then paused. He looked at Jack, wide eyes searching. His hand dropped a little. Jack reached out to catch it, his fingers covering Eric's where they covered the glass.

"Oh," he said. "Jack." Eric's face went soft. He stepped close and cupped Jack's cheek. "I didn't realize."

Jack closed his eyes and shook his head, embarrassed. Eric's thumb caressed the line of his cheekbone before he pulled both hands away. Jack heard the glass click against the table. Eric wrapped a hand around Jack's wrist and pulled.

"Come 'ere, sweetheart."

He led Jack into his bedroom and undressed him slowly. They didn't talk. Not as Eric got naked and fingered himself while Jack watched. Not when Eric went to his hands and knees and looked over his shoulder at Jack, eyes wide and patient and warm. Not while Jack curled over him, his face pressed to the back of Eric's shoulder as he moved inside him.

It wasn't until after, Eric flat on his stomach, panting into his pillow, Jack holding onto him, still hard inside him, that Jack said, "I don't have any money."

Eric was quiet for a moment. Jack worried he'd offended him, but Eric only slid his hand down to where Jack’s rested against his stomach. He slotted their fingers together and squeezed.

"That wasn't work, Jack," he said.

Jack pressed his face into Eric's shoulder and held onto him tightly as he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

"What the fuck, Jack?"

Jack looked up from where he was fumbling out of his shoes to find Shitty standing in his living room. His hair was disarrayed, half tied back, half wild around his head. He ran a hand through it as Jack stared at him.

"You can't just disappear like that!" Shitty growled at him. "Where the fuck were you anyway?"

"Out."

Shitty rolled his eyes. He stalked over to Jack and pulled his jacket from his hands to shake it out and hold it up. When Jack just stared, he wiggled it.

"Lardo's waitin' for us. She was nice enough to not kick my ass when you disappeared last night, but we have to go this morning."

Jack sighed. He turned and slid his arms through the sleeves. "I don't have time to change?"

"No, man." Shitty slapped him on the back. "You smell fine anyway. Did you shower?"

Jack shrugged. He shoved his feet back into his shoes and let Shitty lead him out of his building. He had a car, rare enough these days, and Jack hated riding in it, but Shitty insisted, pushing at Jack's shoulder until Jack gave in and got into the passenger seat.

They bumped along the road in silence until they came to the club house. Shitty pointed at the alleyway beside it. "She's waiting."

Jack nodded and slipped out of the car. He slammed the door shut. Shitty rumbled off. Jack watched him go before he fished his hat from his jacket pocket and pulled it down low on his head.

The side door was open, a man sitting on a stool in front of it. He muttered something in Vietnamese at Jack, but didn't try to stop him. Jack stepped into the dim hallway. He paused, thrown back to that morning. Comfort didn't wait for him at the end of this hall, no warm body or sweet voice or soft bed. Jack sighed and headed for Lardo's office.

He rapped on the door and waited. It finally opened to reveal a large man Jack didn't recognize. He loomed in the doorway, staring down at Jack until Lardo spat something at him in Vietnamese. He stepped back to let Jack in. Lardo rolled her eyes at him and gestured at the chair across from her desk.

Jack pulled his hat off as he sat.

"Lost a lot of bets last night, Jack," Lardo said. She leaned forward on the desk, resting her chin in her hand. She had a newsboy cap set low on her head emphasizing the uneven cut of her hair.

"I didn't expect-" He cut himself off and settled for nodding.

Lardo sighed and sat back in her chair. She wore pants and suspenders, a man's shirt tucked in with the sleeves rolled up and the front opened to reveal a black tank top. Jack could see the fabric that bound her breasts peeking out from the edges of her top.

Running with Parse, he'd known a few women who dressed like men in order to work in places they weren’t normally allowed. Most of them had needed it to be kept a secret, but Lardo had no problem with telling people she was a woman. Jack supposed that when you ran the local fighting circuit you had freedom others lacked.

"Let me in," Shitty's voice echoed from the hallway. "My boy Jack's in there."

Lardo called out something and Shitty entered the office a minute later. He dropped into the chair next to Jack with a huff. "You got this place locked down."

Lardo snorted. "Of course I do."

Shitty wiped a hand over his mustache to hide his grin. "What're we discussing?" 

"Yesterday's fight."

Shitty grimaced. "Lards- Lardo," he corrected at her glare. "That's not the fighter Jack was told he'd take on. That guy had at least 50 pounds on Jack."

"I'm aware." She leaned forward and shuffled some papers around before pulling out one with a series of scribbles. She shoved it across the desk toward them. Shitty picked it up and scanned it. Of the two of them, he read better. Jack was working at it, but for business he left the reading to Shitty.

Shitty tugged on his mustache as he read. "Jack did pretty good."

"He did. Even though we lost a lot of bets last night, we actually won more." She pushed another sheet of paper at them.

Shitty's eyebrows rose higher and higher on his forehead as he read.

"What?" Jack asked him.

"Most of the bets we placed had people winning if you went down in three rounds or less," Lardo said.

Jack looked at her. He'd gone down after six.

"They won a shitload of money saying you'd hold out longer than that." Shitty passed him both sheets of paper. The first was a scorecard. The second was a list of bets. Not many had bet Jack would win. Most had bet he would lose spectacularly. Lardo had certainly won a significant amount of money by him holding out as long as he did.

"That's not what this is about though." She held out a small business card. Shitty took it from her and let out a low whistle.

"Really?"

"She wants to meet him."

"You'd lose your best fighter."

Lardo smirked at him. "Yeah, but there are other deals in the works. And she's not someone whose bad side I want on."

Jack leaned over to look at the name on the card. "George?" he asked.

"She hosts bigger fights. Like, the kind the politicians sneak into even why they pay lip service to shuttin' us down," Shitty said.

"She's interested in me?"

"Looks like."

"Get in touch," Lardo said. "You won't be disappointed." She flicked her fingers at them. "Now get out of here."

Jack followed Shitty out of the building and down a couple blocks to where the car was parked behind a housewares store. Jack paused in front of it to eye some baking pans. Shitty stood next to him.

"The kind of shit they come up with these days," he said pointing at some contraption Jack had actually seen in use this morning. Eric had explained its purpose to Jack, but he'd been naked at the time, hips still streaked with red from Jack's fingers, thighs still shining with lube. He couldn't remember a damn word Eric had said.

Jack grunted at Shitty only to have Shitty sigh back at him, loud and obnoxious.

"Look," Shitty said, turning to face Jack. "I'm gonna set up a meeting with George."

"I'd have to move," Jack said. If she hosted fights for politicians, then she wasn't located in this shit-hole town. She'd be a couple hours away at least.

"Yeah, but, Jack, come on." Shitty grabbed his arm and shook. "What do you have here? Seriously. You don't got a girl. You don't date to get a girl. I don't even know when the last time you got laid- I'm hoping you actually have been, here."

Jack rolled his eyes. He headed for the car, climbing in and slamming the door shut behind him. He didn't think Shitty would have a problem with him being a little bent, but it was something else when you paid to fuck other boys. It was something else when you thought you might be in love with a boy who got paid to fuck other boys.

Jack ran a hand over his face as Shitty climbed into the car.

"Look, I'm setting up a meeting. It won't hurt you to go. You need to think long and hard about why you're still hanging around here, Jack. You aren't happy."

Jack looked over at Shitty. He stared back. Jack opened his mouth and then closed it again. He looked out the front window. Shitty made a noise in the back of his throat and took off. 

He dropped Jack off in front of his apartment. Jack waited until he disappeared around a turn a couple of blocks away and then crossed the street to walk in the opposite direction. It was dark by the time he reached Eric's apartment, the lamps doing nothing to fight the darkness of the hallway now that there was no sunlight to help. Jack knocked on his door.

It took long enough for Eric to answer that Jack thought he might be out, maybe out working some place for the night. Jack didn't even know where all he went on the nights there were no fights.

Just as he was about to leave, though, the door swung open. Eric beamed at him.

"I didn't expect to see you twice in one day," he said. "Come in."

Jack stepped in and let Eric close the door behind him. Jack waited until he turned back around and then he stepped forward. He wrapped his arms around Eric and pulled him in close. Eric's arms slipped around his waist and he pressed his face into Jack's shoulder. He sighed, soft and quiet, and his body melted into Jack's.

Jack closed his eyes and held him tighter.


	3. Chapter 3

Eric followed behind Jack, his trembling hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket and curled into fists to hide his excitement. Jack led him down a long dim hallway, then pushed open the door to the locker room and let him inside. Eric couldn't stop smiling as he wandered the perimeter of the room, letting his hands trail over the clothes left hanging in cubbies, the fabric of his pants brushing against the benches where fighters sat to get ready or to recover.

For as many nights as Eric had spent at the fighting club, he’d never been here. Never wandered the back halls or seen the places where the fighters got ready, where they waited. He’d never gotten to see where Jack got ready- never got to see him strip himself of his everyday clothes and tape his hands, never got to see the dark-eyed fighter take the place of this quiet, gentle man who looked at him with bright, clear eyes when they lay tangled together.

Eric got to Jack's cubby and stopped. A jacket hung from a hook. A box sat in the bottom. Jack had no photographs or artwork pinned up. His cubby was simple, clean, straightforward. Eric smiled as he stood before it, reaching out to touch the jacket. 

He might have been here once, long ago, maybe sat at these same benches, one cubby over from Jack’s, meeting his eyes in a room bright with noise, crowded with other fighters and coaches. They might have found each other here, in the ring, in a very different world.

Eric pushed those thoughts aside and sat down on the bench before Jack’s cubby. He pulled the box into his lap to take the lid off and peer inside. He huffed a small laugh: inside were rolls of tape and nothing else. Eric poked through them and chose a roll that was nearly empty. He twisted it around in his hands, wondering if it was a favorite of Jack's with so little left on it.

Eric set the roll of tape down beside him, then closed the lid and put the box back. He stood and removed his jacket, hanging it up in Jack's cubby, next to Jack’s jacket. He started to unbutton his shirt, only to be stopped by the pressure of hands against his hips. He looked over his shoulder to meet Jack’s hungry gaze.

Jack braced his knees against the bench to press his body close against Eric's. He nuzzled against Eric's cheek, his breath soft and warm against Eric’s neck.

"Let me help," he murmured. 

Eric lowered his hands and Jack reached around him to unbutton his shirt. Eric leaned back, letting Jack take his weight. Jack moved slowly, his fingers lingering as he made his way down Eric's shirt one button at a time.

Eric closed his eyes and focused on the rise and fall of Jack's chest against his back, on the warmth of him, on the gentle care that was Jack's touch.

Jack untucked his shirt from his pants and finished the buttons before nudging Eric forward so he could slide it down Eric's arms. He dropped it on the bench, hiding the tape from view. He turned Eric around and kissed him, his hands on Eric's bare shoulders, the tips of his fingers slipping under the edges of Eric's undershirt. Eric twisted his fingers into Jack's shirt over his waist and kissed back, mouth opening to let Jack in.

Jack stepped away, leaving Eric breathless. He stared at Eric for a long moment, then his eyes dipped down Eric’s body and back up. 

“Finish getting ready.”

Eric laughed and pushed lightly on his stomach. "Get gone, then."

Jack smiled and stole one more kiss. Eric watched him cross the locker room to stop in front of another fighter’s cubby, one Jack’s friends. When Jack started wrapping his hands with tape, Eric tore his attention away from his lover to hang up his shirt and focus on taping his own hands.

Stripped down to their undershirts, hands and knuckles covered with tape, Jack held his hand out for Eric to take and led him down the hall to the club’s main room. The fighting ring sat in the center of the room, the floor bare and empty around it, lines of lights hanging from the ceiling. Eric paused in the doorway and stared out across the room.

This place he was familiar with, but he'd never seen it so bare or so bright. Most nights he came here, the overhead lights were dimmed, spotlights shining on the mat to throw the fighters into sharp relief. Men in dirty coats and slacks stained at the ankles, hats tipped lazily on their heads, jackets open and loose, would crowd around the ring. Few women came to these fights, but most who did wore short dresses, hems higher than was considered proper outside the doors of a place like this. They wore mink jackets or boas made of feathers. Their faces were made up, lips bright red, cheeks a stunning shade of pink. They cheered just as loudly as the men, shouted slurs just as vulgar, laughed just as delightedly.

They didn't lure Eric in, not the way they did with other men, men whose eyes dropped down to trace the hem of a dress against the curve of a thigh, but Eric loved to chat with them, loved to hook his arms with theirs and call out jeers just the same.

Like a few of them, he kept an eye out for the man whose eyes wandered where they shouldn’t. Unlike them, he kept an eye out for the man whose eyes were drawn to the tightness of his shirt across his chest and shoulders. He watched for the man who would lean in a little too far as he watched the fight, eyes trained on the bulge of muscle, the flex of an arm, the curve of a spine. Eric watched for the man whose gaze wandered a little too low, whose eyes were a little too dark, to be watching the fight for its sport.

It had only been an accident that he'd caught Jack watching him. Jack had leaned over the ropes, talking to his manager between rounds, and Eric had been crossing close, intent on a man across the room who had paid too much attention to Eric and too little to the fight. He'd crossed behind Jack's manager, pausing to let a couple of arguing men push past him. He'd looked up, curious, and caught the drag of Jack's eyes up his body, caught the part of his lips, the slip of pink tongue. Jack had met his gaze, his face- already red with exertion- had flushed darker, but he'd held Eric's gaze until the fight had begun again.

Eric had found the man across the room, let the man fuck him behind a restaurant already shut down for the night, but he'd closed his eyes and let it be Jack. Let it be Jack pressed up against his back, let it be Jack's hands on his hips, Jack's breath against his neck.

A month later and he hadn't had to pretend. A month later and he'd found himself in Jack's bed. A little longer than that and he'd found Jack in his home, something more between them that wasn't meant to be there.

Jack tugged on his hand, then let go.

Eric looked at him and caught the wink Jack tossed his way before he walked the carpet path to the ring. Eric followed after him, eyes wandering the empty floors. Jack climbed into the ring, slipping between the ropes with his usual fluid gracefulness. Eric bit his lip and ducked between them himself.

When he stood, Jack was already leaning up against the corner pole across the ring from him.

"You ready?" he asked with a not-quite-there smile.

Eric snorted. He held his hands out to the side. "Do I look ready, Jack?"

Jack grinned and pushed off the pole, moving to stand in the center of the ring, hands raised, knees bent, center of gravity dropped low. Eric rolled his eyes and bit his lip to hide his smile. He crossed the mat and raised his own hands, slipping down into a fighting stance of his own, more muscle memory than skill after all this time.

They held each other's eyes for a moment, then Jack stepped back, weight on the balls of his feet, shifting back and forth. Eric stepped back, too, bouncing lightly, eyes sharp on Jack, watching him closely. They circled each other, neither willing to make a move. 

Then, Jack smirked; his shoulder shifted.

Eric ducked back, reacting instinctively to dodge the light jab. Jack's fist met with air, and he made a noise in the back of his throat.

"You're fast," he commented.

Eric pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows in challenge. Jack narrowed his eyes- rocked forward- and that easily they were fighting, slipping in and out of each other's space, fists darting out to land hits on shoulders and ribs. By unspoken agreement they kept their hits away from the face. By unspoken agreement, they moved closer together than they should. They scuffled, slung arms around each other's necks and waists to drag each other across the mat, an excuse to press close together, an excuse to touch.

Jack used his weight to reel Eric around, letting him go to catch his balance with an awkward shuffle. Eric used his speed to dart in and out of Jack's reach, grinning each time Jack's questing hands met with air. He laughed, the sound broken and breathless, when Jack pouted with each missed opportunity.

"You're supposed to fight me," he complained.

Eric rolled his shoulders back, put up his hands. "Make me.”

Jack narrowed his eyes, body frozen for one breathless moment. Then he lunged.

Eric dodged, ready to slip by, but Jack caught his arm, fingers hooked into the bend of his elbow, and swung him around. Eric expected Jack to let go, but instead he pulled, dragged Eric back so that he was pressed against Jack’s chest. Eric arched against him, eyes closing, head turning, lips parting. Jack wrapped both arms around Eric's waist and pulled him close. He radiated heat; his uncovered skin was slick with sweat. His gasped breaths were hot and damp against Eric's neck. Against his palm, when he reached back, Jack's hair was damp, the strands clinging to his fingers.

Eric exposed his neck to let Jack drag his tongue up the column of it. He whimpered as Jack slid a hand down over his waist, hesitating at his hips. Eric's body strained, his cock already thickening with adrenaline and promise.

"Jack..." he whispered and Jack sighed.

"Home?" he asked, pulling back. 

Eric opened his eyes, remembering then where they were. He nodded and Jack let go of him. Eric didn't look back at him, just crossed the mat to brace his hands against the ropes, fingers curled tightly. What he wouldn't give to have Jack take him here, maybe on the floor, his chest pressed to the mat, Jack's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him down. Eric shivered at the thought. He ducked between the ropes and headed for the locker room, careful to keep his eyes away from Jack.

He could hear, though, Jack's footsteps echoing behind him with the same restrained urgency.

Eric pushed open the door to the locker room and froze. A man lay stretched out on one of the benches, feet crossed at the ankles, hands folded over his stomach. He sat up at Eric's entrance, long hair falling around his shoulder, and flicked a salute at him.

"Where's Jack?" he asked.

"Um..." Eric glanced over his shoulder just as Jack entered the room.

Jack stopped when he saw Eric standing in place. His eyes darted over Eric's shoulder, and Eric turned to find the man standing, hands braced on his hips.

"Shitty," Jack greeted, crossing the room to his friend's cubby. He picked at the tape on his hands and started to unwind it. 

Shitty shot Eric a glance, then ignored him to straddle the bench closest to Jack. Eric picked at his own tape as he headed for Jack's cubby. He kept his head down, pretending not to listen.

"You're really fucking difficult to find when you want to be," Shitty groused.

"I'm at the club," Jack rebutted. 

Eric balled up his used tape and set it on the bench to throw away later. He glanced over his shoulder to see Shitty shaking his head, wiping fingers across his mustache.

"You're usually at the gym on your days off."

Jack sighed. "Shitty."

"Alright, man, alright. Have you thought about it?"

"I don't want to discuss that here."

Eric swallowed thickly as he pulled on his shirt. He left it unbuttoned; he needed to shower. He turned to find Jack glaring at Shitty. Shitty glared in return, but he relented, leaning back and turning his attention to Eric. Jack's shoulders relaxed.

"And who's this?"

"Shitty, this is Eric. Eric, my manager Shitty." Jack pulled his own shirt on, also leaving it open. He sent Eric an apologetic look as Shitty slung his foot over the bench to face Eric fully, eyes narrowed as he stared.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," Eric greeted. He offered his hand. Shitty accepted it and shook it vigorously.

"He calls me sir." He looked at Jack over his shoulder. "Why don't you call me sir?"

"He has better manners than I do."

Eric laughed and shook his head. He stepped back as Shitty stood and clapped his hands together.

"So where are we eating?" he asked, grinning widely.

Jack glanced at Eric before he frowned at Shitty. "Eric and I have plans."

Shitty stared at Jack, his head cocked. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He turned to look at Eric, eyes darting up and down his body. Eric felt his face flush. He lowered his eyes as Shitty turned to Jack.

“Right then. I'll get out of your hair. Jack, you gonna be around later?"

Jack glanced at Eric before shrugging.

Shitty's eyebrow quirked and he grinned. "Well then. Good to meet you, Eric." 

Shitty darted forward to hug Jack, slapping him on the back before letting go. He nodded at Eric and left them alone in the locker room. As the door thunked shut behind him, Jack turned Eric.

“You ready?” he asked, unconcerned, crossing the room to curl his fingers around Eric’s wrist.

Eric hesitated, staring up at Jack’s face, studying him. "Does he know? About us?”

Jack shook his head, then drew in a deep breath. "Well. I've not told him. But I've known Shitty for a long time."

Eric shuffled nervously. Jack's fingers tightened on his wrist briefly.

"He's good people, Eric."

Eric blew out a breath. If Jack trusted him, Eric would trust him.

Jack held onto him until they left the locker room. He uncurled his fingers, his touch lingering, then let go. They walked side-by-side out of the club and down the street. In the cool evening air, Eric buttoned up his shirt. Jack left his open.

"You're good, you know,” Jack said into the silence of their walk. “You could fight."

Eric swallowed thickly, shame curling in his stomach. He kept his eyes forward, focused on the street.

"I could only do it because I trust you. I'm not very good with hitting."

Jack said nothing, but his shoulder pushed up against Eric’s, his fingers caught and held for a heartbeat. Eric drew in a deep breath and looked up at Jack.

Jack smiled down at him, and Eric smiled back. They walked in silence again, easy and gentle. Empty streets let them sneak touches, the soft drag of fingers against palm, a hand flat to the small of the back, a lingering press of shoulder to shoulder.

They picked up food to take back to Jack’s apartment, the heat and smell of it warming Eric. The sun had set by the time they arrived, and Jack turned on a small lamp in the living room. They ate at his kitchen table, knees touching, and then Jack led him to bed where he licked the salt of dry sweat off Eric’s skin and made Eric forget everything but the way it felt when they moved together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be just a quick fight-to-smut interlude chapter while I figure out how to get where I want to go, but character development kept happening. *squints*


End file.
